Trial and Error
by Predominantly Normal
Summary: Italy had a mission: To get Germany to hug him. But he soon learns that it's going to be tougher than he initially thought. Fluff and Germany X Italy.


I DO NOT OWN HETALIA

Author's Notes:

-First Hetalia Fanfic! Woot! Still, I must admit it's sort of awkward having to refer to the characters as countries instead of people.

-Germany X Italy, because it's just so damn adorable.

-Review please!

* * *

Italy had a mission.

It would be harder and more tumultuous than any he had before. Even if he had run away and surrendered to almost every escapade of his. But this time, Italy was determined to complete said mission.

He had to get Germany to hug him.

_Trial 1: _

Italy raced forward, heading in his friend's direction. First course of action would be to simply ask if Germany would hug him. Simple, right? Non.

"Germany!" Italy chided, skipping over and fiddling with his hair curl.

"Yes, Italy? I'm very busy now; what do you want?" Germany rolled his eyes as he stared at the shorter country, expressionless.

"Can you hug me?" Italy asked, tuning up the cute to a level seven. "Please?"

Germany looked slightly taken aback, but recomposed himself so quickly, Italy was sure he'd just imagined the subtle action. Clearing his throat obnoxiously, Germany spun around on one heel.

"_Nein_. Go ask Canada if you want a hug. God knows he'd like the attention." Germany said, his voice stern and raspy.

"Please, Germany?"

"Once again, _nein_."

_Trial 2: _

Okay, so Italy's first idea was sort of a bummer. But he had a better one this time around! He'd cook Germany some pasta! No country with any sense could turn down some good ol' noodles delicately draped with sauce. Except maybe Britain.

Italy got to work immediately, making sure that the pasta was al Dente and the marinara sauce he chose had just the right amount of spice. After he had added the parsley, Italy took a taste-test. Surely, he imagined the pasta was the most eloquent thing he had ever cooked.

Not bothering to take off his apron, Italy trotted down the hall with the pasta in one hand. He tapped on Germany's office door cheerfully, and waited for said country to allow him in.

"Germany! I made something for you!" Italy chided happily.

A small sigh was heard from inside the room before Germany replied. "Come on in."

Italy opened the door and bounded in, which, in retrospect, wasn't a good idea as is. Sadly, he only realized this once the plate of pasta sailed across the room and landed on Germany. Red sauce covered the seething country, dripping off his forehead and chin and staining his uniform. Noodles hung loosely all over Germany's face, which was contorted in a mix of rage and annoyance.

With all the pasta sauce on him, Italy was rather eager to hug Germany, but had enough sense to do otherwise. Besides, it was Germany's job to hug him. And right now, Germany did not look like he was in the hugging mood.

"Ah... I'll leave now, Germany." Italy muttered awkwardly. "Enjoy the pasta!"

"ITALY!" Germany roared as Italy sped off down the hall and into his respective room.

_Trial 3: _

"Explain w-why you needed me so badly, Italy? I mean, I'm not America, I'm Canada, so you know." The country said in a meek tone.

"I know you're Canada!" Italy chirped. "America looks nothing like you!" He added.

"Y-you think?" Canada asked hopefully.

"Course not! Now, I need your help." Italy grinned, playing absentmindedly with his thumbs.

"O-okay." Canada murmured. "With what, if I'm allowed to ask."

"With making Germany jealous, of course!" Italy cheered, waving his white flag. "I surrender myself to you, and then we hug! Germany gets jealous and in turn, hugs me! It's perfecto!"

"U-uh, I don't mean to rain on your parade, but I'm not very assertive and-"

"Come on, Canada!" Italy squeaked, obviously not paying attention to the other country. "Let's find Germany!"

"Um- really, I don't-" Canada was cut off a second time as he was dragged out towards a field where Italy somehow knew where Germany would be.

"How'd you k-know he'd be here?" Canada asked, poking his index fingers together.

"Germany always comes here to read and cloud watch!" Italy explained.

"Germany cloud watches?" Canada cocked his head slightly, his eyes narrowing on Germany, who was staring up at the fluffy cumulus clouds above them.

"Yep! Now get in-scene, Canada!" Italy commanded, plucking his white flag from his tool belt.

"Wait, wha-" Cut off. Again.

"OKAY, CANADA, I SURRENDER! GERMANY IS MEAN ANYWAYS AND STUFF...!" Italy cried out, glancing over his shoulder to see if Germany had taken notice.

Germany did infact turn around, and once he seen Canada and Italy, he immediately tromped up the hill. Stopping right in front of Canada, Germany growled.

"You're keeping him?" Germany asked with slight interest.

"Um- yes...?" Canada replied, unsure. He awkwardly wrapped his arm around Italy's shoulders and side-hugged him. Italy gleefully (and falsely) returned the hug.

"Then you should know how to take care of him." Germany went into an excruciatingly long speech about how to take care of the brown-haired country. Canada never knew taking care of one little country could be so tough.

"On second thought." Canada mumbled. "You can keep him." In a flash he zipped away.

"Oh Mr. Kumajirou..." Canada mumbled, looking at the milky fur of his bear. "I wish I never wished people would start paying attention to me..."

"Who are you again?" The bear asked.

"I'm Canada, your owner!"

_Trail 4 -_ Oh never mind...

Italy wasn't ever going to get his hug anyways.

He'd tried EVERYTHING. Asking, being nice, he even tried making Germany jealous. Italy whimpered under his cool sheets, tears trickling out of his eye.

Maybe he should just surrender, like he did all his other missions. It would be easier. But Italy always took the easy way out. He wanted to be brave for once. He wanted to be just like Germany. More whimpers and tears escaped the pathetically and uncharacteristically sad country.

"Italy? I heard crying." A gruff voice called. Italy burst into more fitful whines once he recognized the voice of Germany.

"No you didn't!" He lied.

"Italy..." Germany yanked the sheets back, looking at the sad country. "What's wrong."

"I just wanted a hug, but then you wouldn't hug me so I did all this stuff to get you to hug me and it didn't work and GERMANY...!" Italy said at a increasingly fast rate without a single pause or breath.

"A hug? That's what this is all about?" Germany looked at Italy sympathetically. If something so little could dampen the spirits of the cheeriest country, then it must not be something little after all.

"Mmhmm." Italy sobbed.

Germany sucked in his pride before quickly wrapping both arms around the sobbing country. Italy found himself relishing the feeling of strong muscles and a broad chest to anchor himself to. Digging his nose into Germany's shirt, Italy smiled warmly.

"I knew you wouldn't not hug me." Italy whispered into Germany's chest, relieved. "I'm too pretty."

Even though he would never admit it, Germany was also finding the embrace enjoyable. Having Italy curled into him was something he could definitely get used to. Italy was like a radiator, warming up Germany's chest. He was almost disheartened when he pulled himself away.

"Italy, do you want a snack?" He asked warily, petting Italy's russet hair.

"Can it be late-night pasta?" Italy asked.

"Yes, Italy. It can be late-night pasta." Germany responded, tugging Italy back into his arms as they both walked to the kitchen.


End file.
